Fearing Endlessly, Loving Infinitely
by Anbu's Analogy
Summary: Multi-chap SinSin, Stand-Alone Sequel. "Eventually, he’ll have to realize... ...That perhaps, taking a chance is worth it." Romance with a touch of Humor and ActionAdventure.
1. Chapter One

**Written By: **Riaki

**Concept Created By:** Riaki / Kaisuke

**Beta-Reader(s): **Kaisuke

**Dedication Piece.**

**Author's Notes:** Actually doing a multi-chapter story, though the chapters are relatively short. Yup, it's a romance, and yup, it's a sequel (to "A Love Worth Fearing". Yes, that was a shameless self-plug). Anyway, review it if you get the chance. Thanks for readin', too.

**Disclaimer:** Ragnarok Online and all references related to it are the property of Gravity. –AA- (Anbu's Analogy) claims no ownership of it. (Applies to all chapters.)

**Semi-Copyright:** All character personalities (as well as the concept behind this story) have been created by –AA- and can not be directly used without requesting permission from the original author of this story. So, basically… Don't rip my isht, bish.

**Fearing Endlessly; Loving Infinitely.**

_**Chapter One.**_

It was almost a different fear altogether, one could suppose. But then again, it was of the same nature…

But this was a different situation, and a different person. He wasn't afraid of dying if he knew he was to be ready; he wasn't afraid of changes if he thought them to be beneficial at some point, _some where_, in his life. The only fears he truly held were a sense of incompletion and a sense of insecurity, one of which led primarily to that fear which he believed may one day contaminate his soul and words.

A fear to truly admit to love.

Maybe it was created from his predecessor, though he knew he had succeeded some of his faults. His predecessor had to wait until death to understand that you couldn't go through life fearing everything you hadn't experienced, hadn't done. It was because of this that the one that was virtually created from the pair (somehow, regardless of their death, he was born unto life – I'll leave the mysteries up to you to solve) figured out that he had to learn to love life and its experiences and the things that it threw on you. After all, if you couldn't learn to love change, you could never love the future and only be stuck in the past. Right?

Naturally.

One would think that, because the child had seen how great his parents' love had been, how much sooner it could've been revealed, that he would've been one to expose it readily, leap upon it with open hands to grasp at any possibilities that existed, leave no regrets in the open.

Not every child can repair every piece of its parents' faults.

He had seen life beyond his parents' ending; had seen the deceit and discourage, the falsities and the truth, the heartbreaks and heart-takes and everything and anything when it came down to love and what it could bring to hurt you. Every pain and every second that he spent at the side of his friend's house, talking out a disheartened and depressed knight… Well, he realized, after some repeat procedures of this as well as several other sights within public as well, that love wasn't as happy as it was all cracked up to be.

In fact, it seemed the opposite.

Chances are, it would take him a life-time to realize, just like it took his father. Perhaps he'd meet someone like his mother and never admit his love until it was too late; perhaps she would follow him to the end, a display of loyalty, or perhaps she would turn from him and fling upon him the one thing that the boy truly feared.

Rejection.

And perhaps he would be condemned to live an afterlife complete with sorrows more intact than those of his living days, and perhaps he would forever be sung of within sad, sopping fairy-tales meant to bring tears to the eyes of those that beheld the bard that was strumming the mandolin, each finger plucking at the heart strings.

Perhaps not.

But it was his future to decide and his future to determine, and though he never thought of it, his parents knew it was coming.

_Eventually, he'll have to realize…_

…_That perhaps, taking a chance is worth it._

-----

Katashi frowned momentarily, a gloved hand rising to sweep away dark springing blades of hair from his eyes. He needed to see – hell, didn't everyone? – and he was beginning to think the hair stylist hadn't really helped him when it came down to that factor.

"_I'll do something new, something stylish," _she had concluded, grinning from ear to ear as she plucked up several objects from a tray beside the pair. _"You'll love it; I promise."_

Well, it didn't look so bad, but… Jesus, his _eyes._

_It's a part of my damn job description,_ he thought darkly, eyes now sweeping rapidly across the area blanketed in shadows before him. _I see things when no one thinks there's anything to see, or that no one could see it anyway; I hear things, too, and smell things, touch things… I'm the epitome of the five senses in action, and how am I supposed to hold to that concept if I have to keep stopping to fix my hair?_

Disgrace, discontent, and frustration.

After awhile, the assassin managed to adjust the hair so that it remained out of his line of sight for the most part; a few rogue strips just barely cut into it from the sides, though he figured he could tolerate at least that much. Now, with eyes freed from their visual restraints, Katashi slowly ducked forward, slipping soundlessly up against a wall as shadows suddenly decked over his form.

_Cloaking; rule number one. Stay to the wall and stay to the shadows, else somethin' gonna get ya, and get ya fast._

Gloved hands etched against the stone wall's surface as the form of Katashi dispersed, his appearance seeming to vanish, though his progress continued. As he crept forward in silence, his blackened eyes once again touched over the areas before him, as well as those to his side; regardless of his cloaked state, he would still love to know if someone was coming close, and who. Otherwise, they could just get in the way later, as they always did.

_And, as always…_

It wouldn't be revealed until hours later, after he was already in the building. He touched away from the stone wall, almost feeling grateful to leave its cold surface, as he stepped forward, hand pulling upwards to rest at his mask, a habit he had taken to after awhile. The shards of light sparked over his body; it was calling to him, almost. The thing he had been paid for to get was steps away from him just grabbing and _going._ Really _going._ And he had to savor the moment.

_One second… Two seconds… Four seconds… Eight seconds…_

And after half a minute had passed, the time spent staring at the glittering formation before him, he reached forward and almost daintily plucked it from its plain-gray stone pedestal, a satisfied grin on his face (which was still, coincidentally, covered with the purple-black mask).

And it was this taking of this artifact that set a series of events into motion.

He shrugged on his cloak; he left the building. He found the Kafra and he transported elsewhere. He delivered the item (quite sneakily) and returned to Morroc. Then he left the city grounds, found an oasis, and decided to camp in front of it.

And moments later, he had a visitor.


	2. Chapter Two

**Previously…**

He shrugged on his cloak; he left the building. He found the Kafra and he transported elsewhere. He delivered the item (quite sneakily) and returned to Morroc. Then he left the city grounds, found an oasis, and decided to camp in front of it.

And moments later, he had a visitor.

**Currently…**

**Fearing Endlessly; Loving Infinitely.**

_**Chapter Two.**_

This particular visitor seemed to have no consideration when it came to proper introductions and proper entrances. A proper entrance, by definition, would come complete with a request to enter onto said other party's property and, under the assumption it was accepted, would immediately introduce the unknown to the party that owned said property. In turn, the party that owned the property would return the introduction, and, quite politely, would possibly invite the party that had just entered the premises to have a drink, perhaps of some well-liked Morroc tea (that had a touch of ground Yellow Herbs within them, for that tangy taste). The originally unknown party would, quite possibly, accept, and then tea would be had for perhaps half an hour to an hour or so, and polite conversation would be exchanged quite cordially until everyone had at least some sense of the other and knew whether or not they'd want to pursue the relationship.

Again. This visitor had no consideration for proper entrances… None. None at all.

It came with a rough kick to the make-shift pillow Katashi had formed, leading to the assassin falling partially over within his sleep. A grunt came from the back of his throat as he, still sleep-driven, leapt to his feet, partially stumbling as his hands snapped out with katars suddenly exposing themselves before him.

"Best try that again, buddy," he whispered through clenched teeth, the cloak of sleep slowly leaving his mind. "If you want to know what it's like when you cross a 'sin."

And the laugh that met him was enough to drive him insane.

"Wake up. You think I'd have problems with that?" A counter-attack snapping out with words, followed quickly by the sound of steel rippling outwards as well. "Fight fire with fire, right? Isn't that what they always said?"

Katashi blinked, a sudden motion that managed to completely clear his eyes of the slumber that had settled over him before. It was then that he realized just who it was that he was addressing; her clothing almost seemed to mock his exactly, the same hue, same build, same style. Bandages wrapped around the midsection and reaching up to the neck; though, instead of pants that rippled to her being, just as his did, she had an almost ragged skirt that now brushed hurriedly throughout the wind.

_A female assassin… Christ sakes._ He was cussing now, though only mentally, attempting to figure out just why the damn thing was after him. _Since when have sins pursued other sins for bounty? I mean, damn…_

And his answer came a few seconds later.

"You took something of… mine. All I need is for you to return it; then we'll be good. Great, even"

Katashi raised an eyebrow, looking at the female assassin before him through slightly slitted eyes. He now took the time to examine her almost critically; messy streaks of dark brown hair jutted out sharply from her features, further adding to the darkened appearance of her overall looks. Her eyes were nearly a matching brown to his own, further emphasizing the darkened tones within her hair. Same hair and eye color? Check. Her figure was a relatively good one, particularly for one that held such a "class"; she was small, maybe five-three or five-two or so, and slim, yet athletic all the same. Ideal for someone that presumably was often looking to get into smaller places without anyone thinking it was possible.

The katars she held to her side almost mimicked his in the manner in which he held them. Noticing this, Katashi relaxed, slowly; the weapons slowly drifted lower, to his sides.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said flatly, now looking the girl directly in the eyes with his own, almost defiantly so.

She eyed him back, just as defiantly; "I beg to differ."

His eyebrow arched even higher. "Now, perhaps, if you could inform me of what I have supposedly stolen…"

The small grin that met him was a small and wry one. "You ought to know. It was only this morning."

The male assassin blinked, then frowned; if she thought of the same item that he was suddenly considering, well… He'd dropped that off, hours ago. It hadn't been an obvious exchange, and that was just what was intended; if anything, it seemed as if he had merely bumped along in the crowds of Morroc, ignoring those that accidentally toppled against his form as he attempted to exit the city. One of the ones who had bumped into him, however, had been the link between him and the one who had requested the item. He had allowed the link to pick-pocket him of his prize, knowing full well just who it was that was to "steal" so indiscriminately from him.

Apparently the lack of obviousness worked, which the assassin then inwardly thanked the man for. After all, if he had to tell this… _female_ just who it was that had paid for his time, well, he'd be breaking both his personal and his class's unspoken code.

"So? Don't you remember?"

She was talking to him again, jarring him out of his past thoughts that had left a tiny and amused smile on his face. The look she returned to him wasn't so amused, more annoyed than so. He looked at her now, bluntly. A straight-on glance.

"I don't have it, skipper."

The female assassin blinked, almost as if taken aback, before moving back into what Katashi would consider an "aggressive state". She eyed him once more, obviously irate. "How can you not have it when you were the only that's touched it today?"

The grin that Katashi shot back was unabashed and open. Even if he couldn't tell her who paid for the job, he certainly could provide other insights… "And that, love, is where you're wrong."

A cough met his ears at the sudden introduction of what she perceived to be a rather irritating nickname. He gave her some time to recompose, and then she was speaking again.

"Wrong? My ass. It's been a _pretty long time_ since I've last been wro-…"

"Love, you're too late. The thing's gone, traded off, exchanged, dealt away. Nothing to do other than to dust off our fingers and maybe get a new pair of gloves," he ambled on amiably in his conversation, now pulling away from the female assassin as the katars dropped away, his stroll becoming a casual one; "and perhaps hope for another day where another job comes that pays _just as well, just as well…_ if not better, right?"

She was fuming now, eyes almost glowing as she stared at him, noticing the obvious drop in defenses as well as the way he turned his back to her… A blatant sign of disrespect, leaving so many damn openings like that. One of which she just had to exploit, in her discontent…

And suddenly, with a smile, Katashi realized that the familiar feeling of cold steel against his neck was an uncomfortable one, but if only because of the temperature of the thing. His head was tilted back now as the edge of the blades cut lightly into the flesh of his neck, just barely drawing a miniscule line of crimson. He felt her form behind him, a comforting heat in the biting chill of Morroc's sands at night. If he reached back, he could touch her, easily… But common sense struck the assassin bluntly, reminding him just who he was, where he was, and what he had done.

"You can't kill me."

The words were put simply and were met with slight discontent by the assassin that stood behind the giver of the words. She spoke back, eyes flashing as she tightened her hold on the man before her.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because," he grinned; "I'm your key to whatever this… _thing_ is. With me gone, you have no chance of getting it back, do you?"

His voice was met by silence so he continued on, grin widening.

"After all, I'm the link to the contact that _paid me_ for the job. Aren't you just a tad curious about who did what and why, and who it's going to and when and where, and perhaps, how? Besides; if you missed the exchange that happened, then obviously you can't know much about my client. Then again… You _could_ kill me. Because maybe I'm lying. You could kill me in cold blood, search my body, and perhaps you can find this artifact that has so mysteriously disappeared from this castle that you have some relation to, I'm sure. But then again, I could be telling the truth… And with me gone and no access to my memory, where would you be then?"

She said nothing, still standing behind him, though he felt the grip around his neck loosen just a tad. He relaxed and continued on, pressing forward.

"I suppose the only thing that you can do is follow me around, harassing me until I give in, and keeping me alive until I do, right? Or you can try sneaking around without me knowing and following me about, wondering if perhaps I'll slip up, have contacts with my former client again. Perhaps they want another job done by a professional that didn't fail them the one time he got hired. But the latter option is all under the assumption that you _don't know_ that I only work for each client once, unless it gets to the point that I could care less for such a small job… And that, even if for some outlandish reason I did decide to speak of my client again, in some shape or form, that you'd have one hell of a time following me around." He glanced about himself, motioning once almost lazily with a hand. "After all, I like Morroc's deserts. I see no buildings. Do you?"

The implication was obvious. If he stayed in the sands of Morroc for much longer, she'd have issues following him without him knowing. With so few trees and such little cover in general, a shadow could stretch miles… hypothetically. He would know she was there, and she knew it.

The silence that stretched between them was an amusing one to Katashi. He expected her to give up then and there, and felt like she almost already had. The katar had pulled itself away from his neck and he was free to move, though he didn't, instead allowing the short distance between them as she remained behind him to remain, partially out of lazy and cocky amusement. Not jumping to a defensive posture? Of course not…

She wouldn't kill him. She couldn't.

So, instead…

A low breath pulled itself from her throat, once, twice, then three… And slowly the katars pulled away from sight, until a presumably bare defense remained. Look hardened with one of intense dislike and dissatisfaction, the female assassin raised her head to stare defiantly at Katashi once more, eyes of matching hues locking together upon visual impact as the male assassin turned to face the other. The girl spoke, the words almost falling off her tongue with disgust;

"Guess I'm stuck with you, then."

…_Damn it all._


End file.
